


Black, or: The Ballad of Jean Prouvaire

by Illyria_Lives



Series: Colors [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Jehan is my darling, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:18:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyria_Lives/pseuds/Illyria_Lives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jehan is having a problem with a certain thick-headed Fearless Leader and his love-struck Drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black, or: The Ballad of Jean Prouvaire

It is not an easy thing, to be Jean Prouvaire.

That’s because being Jean Prouvaire involves the careful balancing of several contradicting characteristics.  To be Jean Prouvaire you needed to be kind, loving, a bit light-headed, but also judgemental, grudge-holding, and pack a killer right hook.  And all while wearing at least two items of floral-print clothing.

And although Courfeyrac is known to rock a good daisy print when the mood suits him, he is sadly no Jean Prouvaire.

“I’m not saying that your point is invalid and very misogynist, but your point is invalid and very misogynist.”

Enjolras cut his eyes across the back room of the Café Musain at Grantaire, leaning back in his chair to rest his head on the wall behind him.  His eyes are closed so he doesn’t see the scathing look sent his way, but the quirk of his lips betrays that he is very aware of the vein popping from Enjolras’s forehead.

“There is nothing misogynist about immigration laws,” Enjolras says, tone tense.

Grantaire cracks open an eye and gives an engaging smile.  The roar of an approaching arguement began to sound through the immediate vincinity, and most of the more casual vistors to the only decent on campus cafe decided to move en masse to another area to avoid the upcoming row.

At about this time, a Jean Prouvaire would have stepped in and made them stop before anything other than pride got hurt because a Jean Prouvaire Sees Everything.  But, sadly, Courfeyrac is no Jean Prouvaire.  Instead he is a Courfeyrac, aka: currently tongue-to-tonsils with the new waitress behind the bar.  So he misses the greater beginning of the debate, the rousing middle portion during which the word "douchecanoe" is used wholesale, and the end of the entire show, when Grantaire is covered in wine, Enjolras looks ready to pass out (his shirt is also open; but Courfeyrac Does Not Want to Know).  Courf barely manages to pop up from behind the bar with lipstick smeared across the lower half of his face in time to watch Grantaire storm out.  Enjolras stands in the middle of the room, clenching his fists and one eye twitching.

A Jean Prouvaire would know the exact way to defuse the wound-up undergrad revolutionary.

But it is worth stating three times that Courfeyrac is not Jean Prouvaire.  Not even close.

"What the hell did I miss?"

* * *

**Courf** : we need j back

 **Courf** : like pronto

 **Courf** : express order

 **Courf** : endale

 **Courf** : toro toro

 **Bahorel** : the fuck courf what the hell are you saying

 **Courf** : im sayin that i failed my e/r babysittin duty

 **Bahorel** : dammit courf you had one job

 **Courf** : pretty please find j 4 me

 **Bahorel** : i dont know where he is

 **Courf** : come ooooooooon

 **Bahorel** : look when jehan doesnt want to be found, he gets the hell out of dodge

 **Courf** : the fuck b wth r u sayin

 **Bahorel** : what im saying is

 **Bahorel** : pay close attention

 **Bahorel** : this be some rocket science shit right here

 **Bahorel** : im saying

 **Bahorel** : do your goddamn job, courf

 **Bahorel** : and also, start texting like a grown up

 **Courf** : :P

* * *

Jehan liked love.  He reveled in it.  The idea that two people, unrelated by anything, could look at each other and suddenly be not a lone figure in a crowd, but part of a whole bigger than themself, is fascinating to him.  So it particularly pains him to sit at meetings of his friends and watch as Grantaire and Enjolras slowly tear each other apart, because let's face it: there is massive sexual tension there.  But Jehan is not a complainer or a meddler, he simply steps in when necessary to stop them from coming to blows in public with a well-timed interruption or a level-headed comment.  He thinks that Enjolras is onto him.  But even Jehan Prouvaire, poet extraordinaire, has his limits.  His limit just happened to be reached in a less opprotune time than he would have liked.

"So are you going to bone Grantaire or what?" he asks without preamble.

Enjolras, for his credit, does not immediately spit out his coffee.  He just swallows it like it's suddenly gone sour and gives Jehan, seated on his couch in a sweater that is against all sorts of laws against fashion and common sense, a Look.

"Because he would totally go for it," Jehan adds, twirling one long lock of yellow hair around his finger.  "You know."

Enjolras shuts his eyes and counts backwards from ten.  When he reaches zero he gives Jehan as calm a look as he can muster this early in the morning when presented with the idea of fucking Grantaire of all people.  "No," he simply says, and then leaves the room like a banished king.  Jehan pouts after him.

"Ready to go?" Combeferre asks, finally emerging from his room, twirling his key ring on one finger.  On Mondays they both carpooled across the city to the two office buildings they interned at, which happened to be situated right next to each other.

In the car, the normally silent Jehan perks up a bit, surprising Combeferre somewhat.  "Have R and Enjolras always..." he makes a vague motion with his hands.

"Oh yes," Combeferre agrees readily, " _Always._ "

Jehan makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and looks out the window stormily before speaking again.  "I just don't get it.  Why would they be so thick-headed when love is staring them straight in the face?"

Combeferre shrugs.  "Maybe they don't need it," he offers.  "They do kind of, you know, hate each other with passion unspeakable."

Jehan slid his eyes across the car to rest on Combeferre intelligently.  "Joly said that last week."

Combeferre smiles because a Jean Prouvaire Sees Everything and Forgets Nothing and assents, "He wasn't wrong."

Jehan sighs again and aims his pale blue eyes back out the window at the scenery passing by.  "It's like our entire group of friends is just going to let this go.  People can't live without love, 'Ferre, and it kills me to see R and Enjorlas like this all the time."

With an intake of breath, Combeferre enters what Jehan, Bossuet, Bahorel and Grantaire all secretly call his 'Smarter Than Thou Persona' which involves a lot of gentle tones, firm assertions and, if the situation allows, shoulder pats as he rips your ideas apart, places his in their place, and then sends you on your merry brainwashed and enlightened way.  "People like Grantaire and Enjolras, they get along fine without romantic attatchments, and it's not really our place to tell them how to live their lives."

Jehan straightens his mouth into a line.  "So, you're saying that people can do without love?"

"Yes," Combeferre nods.  

"So, our friends would all be fine without it?"

"Probably," Combeferre admits.  "Look, I know that I sound a bit cynical, but life isn't a Disney movie.  Get it?"

The silence from Jehan's half of the car heralds a new age of Disney-ness that no one could escape.

* * *

First he skipped their weekly meet-up at the Musain.  Bahorel ended up in another fight, Grantaire passed out drunk, and Combeferre was hit with the dreaded feeling that he had fucked something up royally.

But they can't avoid him on campus, as he is in literally every artistic club to ever put on a demonstration in the quad and not to mention enrolled in all classes covering forms of the English language, and that is when Marius starts Freaking Out because he swears he saw a movie like this once as a kid.

"He's been taken over by a demon," he whispers to Courfeyrac, who also saw that movie and didn't think it was good enough to count as a theory as to why Jehan was suddenly wearing dull, muted colors and not dipping the end of his long blond braid into bright cups of paint.  Tensions rise in the group without Jehan there to curb them with his magical Jean Prouvaire powers, until eventually they all resort to assigning shifts to each other.  There was the "Don't let Grantaire and Enjolras kill each other" shift, the "Make Sure Bahorel Doesn't Break His Nose Again" shift, and the "Dear God Don't Let Marius Wander Into The Porn Store On Accident Again" shift.

It's not the shifts that Courfeyrac hates.  It's not the scathing looks he got one night when he had to escort a still boob-shocked Marius fresh from The Treasure Boxx to his table at the Musain, or the increasingly exasperated text battles with Joly over who had E/R duty for that afternoon.  It's the simple fact that Courfeyrac hates losing people.

So, of course he's getting Jehan back.  Because he loves the little pissy poet as much as he loves the rest of his friends and he doesn't want to lose him.

* * *

"Yo!  Prouvaire!"

Jehan stops walking and tries to settle his face into casual indifference.  Courfeyrac pants as he catches up to him, chest heaving.  His eyes moved up and down the shorter man and he simple states, "what the fuck," because there is no better response to what he was seeing.

Jehan was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans, a gray button down, and a black jacket.  There was not one floral print to be seen, which Courfeyrac wouldn't have thought possible until he saw it with his own eyes.  The poet smirks up at Courf's confused expression and pertly asks, "Yes?"

"What the fuck," Courfeyrac repeats, before coming to his sense and adding, as an afterthought, "We need you back, Jehan."

The poet shrugs.  "I'm not so sure.  I was just shoving useless romance down your guys's throats, right?  At least that's what 'Ferre said."

"Fuck 'Ferre?" Courfeyrac offers, arranging his arms in a tree-shape of emotion.  "Jehan, you're the bright, campy glue that holds us all together.  And although we might not love each other when sober or not under threat of death, we sure as hell love you.  So please,  _please,_ put your big boy floral-print jeans on and come back before R and Enjolras kill each other with words."

Jehan tilts his head, considering, and Courf drops his arms.  "The group is everyone, Prouvaire," he says flatly, "and when you're not there, it's not the same.  It's like, you're part of a bigger whole and when you're gone, something important is missing.  Come back?"

He doesn't respond right away.

* * *

**Bahorel:** how in holy hell did you convince jehan to come back?

 **Courf** : magic :p

 **Courf** : imma wizard b

 **Courf** : off 2 do wizard things @ my secret wizard school

 **Bahorel** : wow i suddenly remembered why i dont like texting you

 **Courf** : ur just jealous

 **Courf** : i found j w/o ur help

 **Courf** : nyeh nyeh i win

 **Courf** : imma txt u a pic of my ass doin a winners dance

 **Bahorel** : oh my fucking god

 **Bahorel:** i DID NOT need to know about that tattoo there

 **Courf:** magic tat

 **Courf:** on my magic ass

 **Courf:** cuz imma wizard and i win

 **Bahorel:** im done

* * *

Jean Prouvaire is many things.  He is a poet, a dreamer, and a romantic.  He is a crusader, a vigilante, and an expert at matching floral prints to other bright patterns.  He wears black when he doen't want to think about how much brighter his life could be.

But above all, he loves being in love with his friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Darling Jehan <3


End file.
